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AMERICAN  STAGE 
DESIGNS 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


American  Stage  Designs 


I 


New  York 

"-Bourgeois  galleries 
1919 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.arcliive.org/details/americanstagedesOObour 


AMERICAN  STAGE  DESIGNS 


AN  ILLUSTRATED  CATALOGUE  OF  THE 
MODELS,  DRAWINGS  AND  PHOTOGRAPHS 
EXHIBITED  AT  THE  BOURGEOIS  GALLERIES 
IN  NEW  YORK  -  -  APRIL  5th  TO  26th,  1919 
WITH  ARTICLES  BY  MAXWELL  ARMFIELD, 
MICHAEL  C  CARR,  NORMAN-BEL  GEDDES, 
C  RAYMOND  JOHNSON,  ROBERT  EDMOND 
JONES,  ROLLO  PETERS,  IRVING  PICHEL, 
HERMANN  ROSSE,  LEE  SIMONSON,  J. 
BLANDING  SLOAN,  JOSEPH  URBAN,  JOHN 
WENGER,    AND    KENNETH   MACGOWAN. 


NEW  YORK 

Published  by   THEATRE  ARTS  MAGAZINE 

I  9  I  9 


EXHIBITION  COMMITEE 

HELEN  FREEMAN 
KENNETH  MACGOWAN 
SHELDON  CHENEY 

Acting  in  conjunction  with 
MR.   STEPHAN   BOURGEOIS 


The  Exhibition  of  American  Stage  Designs 
at  the  Bourgeois  Galleries 

PREFATORY  NOTE 

It  was  more  than  a  year  ago  that  a  few  people  interested  in  the 
so-called  "new  movement  in  the  theatre"  met  in  New  York  to 
formulate  plans  for  an  exhibition  of  models,  sketches  and  photo- 
graphs of  stage  settings.  They  felt  that  it  would  be  of  interest  to 
the  public,  and  of  service  to  the  artists  concerned,  to  show  com- 
prehensively the  progress  of  modern  stagecraft  in  this  country.  Af- 
ter many  delays  their  plans  have  matured  in  the  exhibition  of  stage 
designs  being  held  at  the  Bourgeois  Galleries  during  April. 

Most  of  the  earlier  stagecraft  exhibitions  in  America  had  been 
devoted  largely  to  the  European  revolutionaries — to  Craig,  Ap- 
pia,  Bakst  and  the  Germans — with  only  a  few  anaemic  imitations 
to  show  that  Americans  were  interested ;  or  else  the  shows  were 
one-man  affairs.  But  by  the  middle  of  last  season,  with  Rollo 
Peters,  John  Wenger,  Lee  Simonson,  and  Maxwell  Armfield 
meriting  recognition  with  the  three  pioneers  in  New  York,  and 
with  the  names  of  Sam  Hume,  Raymond  Johnson,  Hermann 
Rosse  and  Norman-Bel  Geddes  coming  insistently  out  of  the 
West,  the  time  seemed  ripe  for  showing  graphically  and  collec- 
tively what  had  been  accomplished.  The  present  exhibition 
includes,  without  serious  exception,  designs  by  every  artist  who 
has  contributed  either  extensively  or  with  noteworthy  talent  to 
the  current  of  the  new  staging  in  America. 

In  connection  with  the  exhibition  it  was  suggested  that  each 
artist  prepare  a  brief  statement,  outlining  his  attitude  toward  the 
stage  or  his  belief  about  the  future  of  theatre  art.  These  state- 
ments, together  with  Kenneth  Macgowan's  interpretative  essay, 
occupy  the  following  thirty  pages,  and  are  appearing  both  in  the 
official  exhibition  catalogue  and  in  TJieatre  Arts  Magazine. 

The  committee  which  has  arranged  the  exhibition  is  composed 
of  Helen  Freeman,  Kenneth  Macgowan  and  Sheldon  Cheney.  Two 
of  the  original  members,  Lee  Simonson  and  H.  K.  Moderwell,  re- 
signed when  they  were  called  away  from  New  York  last  summer. 
The  committee  has  consulted  continually  with  Mr.  Stephan  Bour- 
geois, and  it  has  had  occasional  meetings  with  those  stage  designers 
who  are  resident  in  New  York.  With  this  aid  it  has  prepared  an 
exhibition  which  is  probably  as  representative  and  as  complete  as 
is  possible  when  an  art  is  young.  S.  C. 


739341 


The  New  Path  of  the  Theatre 

By  Kenneth  Macgowan 

Are  we  to  emerge  from  the  war  into  a  new  theatre?  Are  we  to 
harvest  in  the  playhouse,  as  we  are  harvesting  in  other  fields  of 
art,  the  rich  seedings  of  Europe  many  years  negle6led  ?  Will  we 
find  ourselves  in  that  theatre  of  beauty  and  expressiveness  to- 
wards which  Russia  and  Germany  and  in  less  degree  France  and 
England  were  moving  in  19 14? 

One  thing  is  certain  :  if  we  go  anywhere,  we  shall  go  far.  If  we 
take  steps  to  reorganize  our  theatrical  machine,  to  make  it  sen- 
sitive and  yet  strong,  self-reliant  and  self-expressive,  we  can 
create  theatrical  art  of  a  rare  fulness.  For  we  build  upon  a  full 
and  alive  past.  We  build  upon  a  past  that  is  only  yesterday  and 
yet — by  the  intervention  of  the  war — has  taken  on  many  of  the 
rounded  and  summed-up  quahties  of  tradition.  More,  we  are 
building  on  an  international  past  in  the  theatre,  even  as  we  are 
building  towards  an  international  future  in  affairs  of  state. 

Behind  the  modern  art  of  stage  produ6lion  loom  two  immense 
figures  of  theory — Gordon  Craig  and  Adolphe  Appia.  Craig,  an 
Englishman  writing  in  English,  gave  us  the  great  outlines  of  in- 
spiration, filled  in  with  the  brilliant  and  provocative  art  of  his 
pencil.  Appia,  an  Italian-Swiss  writing  in  French,  supplied  an 
abstra6l  philosophy  and  a  concrete  method.  Two  nations — Ger- 
many and  Russia — took  up  the  task  of  realizing  these  ideas 
and  prescriptions.  Through  state  and  city  theatres,  through 
group  playhouses,  where  study,  experiment  and  thoughtful  ac- 
complishment were  not  im.possible,  modern  theatrical  art  rounded 
from  theories  into — produ6lions.  From  Germany  rose  the  fame 
of  Max  Reinhardt,  obscuring  for  us  the  splendid  work  of  a  dozen 
other  producers  Hke  Schlenter,  Linnebach,  Hagemann.  From 
Russia  came  the  ballet  of  Bakst  obscuring  only  less  completely 
the  theatre  of  Stanislawski.  In  Ireland,  the  Abbey  theatre  opened 
its  eyes  to  the  vision.  Barker  saw  in  London,  and  minor  men 
and  playhouses  in  the  English  provinces.  Rouche,  of  the  Theatre 
des  Arts,  showed  Paris  that  which  made  him  dire6lor  of  the 
Opera  for  the  fated  fall  of  19 14.  And  in  France  occurred  that 
most  remarkable  birth  of  a  literally  new  theatre,  the  Vieux 
Colombier  of  the  critic-player  Jacques  Copeau.  At  this  point, 
the  Great  War  wrote  "finis".  Russia  under  the  Soviets  has  re- 
opened the  scroll.  America  under  the  Shuberts  may  yet  write 
upon  it. 


Without  the  theories,  progress  for  them  or  progress  for  us 
would  have  been  impossible.  Without  their  accomplishment, 
progress  for  us  would  be  only  a  thing  to  dream  of  For  under 
the  Shuberts — -which  is  only  an  impolite  and  impolitic  way  of 
saying  under  the  Broadway  system  of  piecemeal  produ6lion  — 
America  could  never  study,  experiment  and  accomplish  as  the 
old  world  did  in  those  German  and  Russian  producing  theatres 
where  groups  of  artists  worked  constantly  together.  Fortunately 
that  work  has  been  done  for  us.  Of  course  we  need  more  ex- 
periment, and  we  need  and  are  getting  the  theatres  where  that 
is  possible ;  yet,  now  that  we  have  models  to  work  from,  even 
our  Broadway  system  can  reproduce  and  to  some  extent  develop 
the  types  of  produ6lion  given  us  by  the  recent  and  international 
past  before  the  war.  It  had  even  begun  to  do  so  while  Europe 
fought. 

Indeed,  America  is  at  the  point  where  criticism  should  begin 
to  take  the  place  of  indiscriminate  enthusiasm.  The  exhibition 
of  sketches  and  models  at  the  Bourgeois  Galleries  in  New  York 
and  the  essays  by  native  stage  artists  to  which  this  is,  in  a  cer- 
tain sense,  an  introduction,  demonstrate  how  far  things  have 
already  moved.  We  need  not  fear  to  injure  our  cause  by  criti- 
cism. We  are  more  likely  now  to  kill  it  with  kindness.  There  was 
a  time  when  the  faintest  buds  of  the  footlights  had  to  be  nour- 
ished with  applause.  We  hailed  much  extremely  bad  work.  Per- 
haps it  was  because  we  craved  excitation  and  the  bizarre,  as 
relief  from  drab  emotions.  Perhaps  it  was  because  we  knew  that 
even  from  such  beginnings  the  good  art  could  spring — certainly 
better  and  more  easily  than  from  the  old.  It  was  thus  that  we 
applauded  much  work  of  the  worst  Washington  Square  Players 
sort.  The  old  was  so  bad  that  we  accepted  an  even  worse  ver- 
sion of  the  new.    Now  we  must  criticize. 

We  must  appreciate  the  potentialities  of  the  stage.  That  was 
what  the  old  school  didn't  do.  And  that  is  what  some  of  the 
new  schools  also  are  failing  to  do  when  they  cling  to  the  old  the- 
atricalism,  to  the  old  arbitrary  four  walls  of  canvas,  the  forced 
marriage  of  pretence  and  extravagance.  We  have  fought  realism. 
We  have  berated  Belasco.  But  our  fight  should  go  further  back — 
and  further  forward.  Realism  can  emerge  into  the  expressive- 
ness of  the  new  art.  Behind  realism  lies  the  greater  enemy,  the 
enemy  that  realism  and  its  Forty-fourth  Street  high  priest  fought 
with  us, — yes,  before  us.  That  enemy  is  theatricalism.  It  is  the 
dead-alive  theatre  of  the  last  century,  where  the  meagre  ma- 
terials of  side  walls,  wings,  and  backdrop,  were  accepted  as  can- 


vasses  for  the  smearing  of  bad  color  and  worse  perspeftive  into 
a  "  play-a6lory "  pretence  at  a  marvelous  reality.  The  thing  was 
never  life.  It  was  never  poetry.  It  was  never  emotion.  It  was  a 
routine  rule-of-thumb  fake.    And  in  America  it  still  lives. 

Two  men  set  themselves  to  demolish  this  thing.  They  were 
Otto  Brahms  and  David  Belasco.  They  produced  a6luality.  Ad- 
mirers of  the  Berlin  producer  called  it  naturalism.  And  it  was 
this  light  that  Reinhardt  and  Stanislawski  first  followed.  These 
men  made  a6lual  rooms  and  plausible  exteriors.  A  great  mass 
of  engineering  mechanism,  new  lights,  new  stages,  new  skies, 
were  invented  in  the  process  of  getting  rid  of  the  old  fake,  and 
putting  realism  in  its  place.  The  two-dimensional  perspeftive  of 
the  easel  painter  was  banished  from  the  three-dimensional  thea- 
tre. The  footlights  and  the  borderlights  of  the  pi6lure-frame 
stage  were  left  to  the  pidlure  gallery  in  all  their  blank  staring 
glare. 

^Esthetics,  like  life,  do  not  comt  in  water-tight  compartments. 
There  is  evolution.  Now  it  is  quite  possible  to  argue  that  the 
old  theatricalism  was  always  striving  to  be  real,  and  that  hard, 
intelligent  work  pushed  it  over  into  naturalism.  Certainly  natur- 
alism, as  Reinhardt  and  Stanislawski  pra6liced  it,  drifted  over 
into  the  high  expressiveness  of  the  new  art.  There  was  a  time 
when  Reinhardt  produced  A  Midsu7nmer  Night s  Dream  in  a 
forest  of  real  papier-mache  trees.  Stanislawski  made  a  Gorki  of 
utter  and  gutter  reality.  But  they  had  only  to  try  to  add  beauty 
and  meaning  to  their  productions  in  order  to  be  forced,  like  all 
the  great  artists  of  the  world,  into  a  refinement,  a  sele6lion  and 
an  interpretation  which  is  best  expressed  through  the  rather 
awkward  term  abstraflion.  The  old  theatre  of  theatricalism  had 
tried  to  reach  a  vivid  and  pifturesque  reality  through  certain 
rule-of-thumb  abstra6lions  which  cribbed,  cabined,  confined  and 
defeated  the  purpose.  The  newer  theatre  tries  to  reach  beauty 
and  meaning,  to  win  to  a  vivid  expressiveness  of  the  play, 
through  spiritual  abstra6lions.  In  the  old  days  stretched  can- 
vas, painted  with  pi6lures  of  leaves  and  branches,  tried  to  look 
like  a  forest.  In  the  days  of  realism,  aftual,  modelled,  three- 
dimensional  forms  of  trees  did  indeed  look  not  unlike  an  infe- 
rior sort  of  forest.  In  the  third  period,  however,  that  same 
canvas  of  the  old  days,  treated  frankly  as  cloth,  and  either  hung 
in  loose  tree-like  shapes  or  painted  with  symbols  of  nature  and 
draped  like  the  curtain  it  adlually  is,  becomes  an  abstraction  of 
a  forest,  full  of  all  the  suggestive  beauty  of  which  the  artist  in 
colors,  shapes  and  lights  is  capable. 


In  spite  of  the  natural  process  of  development  from  realism  to 
this  art  of  abstra6lion,  there  is  such  an  essential  break  with  the 
stiff  and  limited  art  of  the  past,  that  there  has  come  a  promise 
of  as  great  a  break  with  the  physical  theatre  itself  This  is  the 
place,  however,  for  only  a  hint  at  the  reconstru6lion  of  stage  and 
auditorium  which  may  make  a  theatre  as  different  from  the 
present  hall  and  niched  platform  as  that  theatre  was  different 
from  the  open-air  cockpit  of  the  Ehzabethans  and  the  amphi- 
theatre of  the  Greeks. 

The  evolution  which  kept  those  utterly  different  theatres  still 
The  Theatre,  and  which  brings  the  modern  art  of  produ6lion  out 
of  the  theatricals  of  Garrick  and  Kean,  also  brings  compromises 
and  "sportings  back."  These  must  not  confuse  us.  As  we  gain  a 
single  definite  conception  of  the  new  art,  we  must  begin  to  see 
the  falsities  that  have  crept  into  it.  We  must  see  and  recognize, 
for  example,  the  limitations  of  Bakst  and  much  of  the  Russian 
method.  We  must  note  that  this  artist  has  been  content  with  the 
old  mechanics  and  methods  of  theatricalism.  He  has  taken  the 
great  canvas  drop  and  the  open  side  wings,  and  he  has  simply 
sublimated  them  with  color.  He  still  paints  perspe6lives  on  the 
drop,  but  he  flings  out  columns  and  stairs  and  vistas  with  such 
verve,  and  colors  them  with  such  spe6lacular  geniu^  that  they 
take  on  a  spiritual  life  that  triumphs  over  technical  limitations. 
Bakst  is  a  glorious  compromise. 

And  there  are  many  compromises  that  must  be  met  and,  per- 
haps, accepted.  Banishing  perspe6live  utterly  only  ties  us  down 
to  a  setting  no  larger  in  its  appearance  than  the  a6tual  stage. 
Should  we  then  compromise  by  the  use  of  set-pieces  showing 
distant  silhouettes  of  cities  and  mountains  against  the  sky,  so 
distant  in  fa6t  as  to  defeat  the  difficulties  in  perspe6live?  Or  will 
we  find  a  more  consistent  solution  in  symbolic  representation, 
which  turns  the  whole  aftual  stage  into  a  place  without  physical 
Umitations?  Similarly,  shall  we  attempt  the  blue  ether  of  the 
sky  by  that  remarkable  combination,  ele6lric  light  and  plaster 
dome,  or  shall  we  turn  the  sky,  too,  into  a  symbolic  and  decora- 
tive thing — canvas  daubed  and  speckled  with  pleasing  hues? 

Besides  falsities  that  should  be  banned  and  compromises 
that  may  be  accepted,  there  are  many  varieties  of  style  and 
method  possible  in  the  new  art.  One  artist — Joseph  Urban,  for 
instance — may  practice  an  enriched  and  meaningful  realism  in 
Le  Prophete,  a.  decorative  method  in  Don  Giovanni,  and  an  abso- 
lute abstra6lion  in  the  "realistic"  Nju,  or  he  may  run  from 
realism  to  abstra6lion  and  symbolism  in  a  single  opera  such  as 


St.  Elizabeth.  We  may  have  our  preferences.  I  am  personally  all 
for  the  abstraction.  But  we  must  recognize  the  breadth  of  the 
new  movement  and  we  must  see  that  the  essential  test  is  the 
effefl  of  the  particular  produ6lion  on  the  expressiveness  of  the 
play  itself 

But  behind  all  such  conflicts  and  compromises  and  differences 
of  method,  there  remain  a  {^.^n  basic  ideas  and  basic  methods, 
without  which  we  cannot  have  the  beauty  and  the  expressive- 
ness of  the  modern  stage  art.  They  are  simplification,  sugges- 
tion, and  synthesis. 

Simplification  is  the  test  in  almost  all  great  art.  Simplification 
of  effe6l  always  ;  simplification  of  means  generally.  On  the  stage, 
simplification  of  both  effe6l  and  means  are  essential,  because  the 
scenery  is  not  the  only  thing  to  be  seen.  Stage  architecture  is 
not  architefture  alone,  or  stage  pifture  merely  stage  pi6lure. 
The  setting  is  the  medium  for  the  a6lor.  And  it  is  essential  that 
he  shall  be  properly  seen.  It  is  essential  that  he  shall  be  prop- 
erly set  off  by  his  background  and  properly  fused  in  it.  He 
must  mean  more  because  of  the  setting,  not  less.  The  case 
against  the  old  setting,  both  the  theatrical  setting  and  the  Be- 
lasco  setting,  is  that  either  its  garishness  or  its  detail  tends  to 
hide  the  a6lor.  On  the  stage  we  must  have  simplification  for 
art's  sake.  But  we  must  have  it  even  more  for  the  sake  of  the 
aCtor — and  therefore  of  the  play. 

The  complement  to  simplification  is  suggestion.  Simplify  as 
much  as  you  please;  you  only  make  it  the  more  possible  to 
suggest  a  wealth  of  spiritual  and  aesthetic  qualities.  A  single 
Saracenic  arch  can  do  more  than  a  half  dozen  to  summon 
the  passionate  background  of  Spanish  Don  Juan.  One  candle- 
stick can  carry  the  whole  spirit  of  the  baroque  La  Tosca.  On 
the  basis  of  simplication,  the  artist  can  build  up  by  suggestion  a 
host  of  effe6ls  that  crude  and  elaborate  reproduction  would  only 
thrust  between  the  audience  and  the  aCtor  and  the  play.  The 
artist  can  suggest  either  the  naturalistic  or  the  abstraCl,  either 
reality  or  an  idea  and  an  emotion. 

Finally,  the  quality  above  all  in  modern  stage  production  is 
synthesis.  For  modern  stage  art,  in  spite  of  all  the  easel  artists 
who  may  care  to  praCtice  the  painting  of  scenery,  is  a  complex 
and  rhythmic  fusion  of  setting,  lights,  aCtors  and  play.  There 
must  be  consistency  in  each  of  these,  consistency  of  a  single  kind 
or  consistency  that  has  the  quality  of  progression  in  it.  And 
there  must  be  such  consistency  among  them  all.  Half  the 
portrait,  half  the  landscape,  cannot  be  in  Whistler's  style  and 


the  other  half  in  Zuloaga's.    The  creation  of  a  mood  expres-*^ 
sive  of  the  play  is,  after  all,   the  final  purpose  in  produ6tion. 
It  can  no  more  be  a  jumble  of  odds  and  ends  than  can  the  play 
itself. 

The  achievement  of  this  synthesized  suggestion  of  a  play's 
simple,  essential  qualities  has  been  sought  by  the  great  theorists 
in  very  different  ways.  Gordon  Craig  would  get  it  mainly  by 
design,  backed  by  color.  Adolphe  Appia  fuses  his  drama  in  light. 
Jacques  Copeau,  whose  beliefs  and  whose  work  must  take  a  high 
place  in  the  record  of  theatrical  progress,  achieves  the  play 
through  restri6lion  of  means  and  the  re-creation  of  every  ele- 
ment from  the  theatre  building  to  the  a6lor  at  each  produ6lion. 

I  think  a  single  scene  of  a  play  produced  by  two  Americans — 
and  a  modern,  realistic  play,  at  that  —  can  be  taken  as  an  ex- 
ample of  the  working  out  of  the  three  fundamentals  in  a  fused 
whole.  It  is  the  opening  scene  of  a  failure  produced  by  Arthur 
Hopkins  a  few  years  ago,  TJie  Devil's  Garden.  The  opening  of 
the  play  showed  a  postal  clerk  hauled  up  for  examination  on 
charges  in  the  room  of  a  member  of  that  bureaucracy,  the  British 
general  post  office.  The  setting  was  shallow,  perhaps  ten  feet 
deep.  At  each  end  was  a  door  set  in  a  square  wall.  The  wall  be- 
tween was  without  opening,  and  its  only  decoration  was  a  buff- 
toned  map.  Three  chairs  and  one  desk.  And  some  a6lors. 
Simplification. 

But  that  simple  room  fairly  breathed  bureaucracy,  the  thing 
that  was  about  to  grip  the  clerk.  Its  walls  were  a  dull  gray;  its 
door  casings,  map  frame,  narrow  wainscoating  and  furniture  were 
black — the  same  gray  and  black  of  the  morning  clothes  of  the 
officials.  These  tones  and  these  people  made  a  well-composed 
harmonious  pi6lure,  but  it  was  a  pi6lure  instin6l  with  formality. 
The  colors,  the  proportions,  the  map  —  all  simple  suggestions 
of  the  reality  that  ruled  the  whole  great  invisible  building  be- 
hind. 

For  synthesis,  there  was  not  only  the  consistency  of  this  gray 
and  black  duotone  and  its  restrained  lighting.  There  was  the 
handling  of  furniture  and  people — the  stage  dire6lion.  The  desk 
and  chairs  were  precisely  and  formally  square  with  the  square 
walls.  The  people  entered  from  the  end  doors,  moved  squarely 
and  formally  up  to  each  other,  face  to  face,  precise.  It  was  a 
machine,  the  machine  of  government  property.  That  scene,  as 
designed  by  Robert  E..  Jones  and  dire6led  by  Arthur  Hopkins, 
was  a  perfe6l  piece  of  realism,  and  a  perfeft  piece  of  abstrac- 
tion besides.  It  showed  the  possibilities  of  the  new  art  for  the 


drama  of  to-day  as  well  as  for  the  colorful  and  imaginative  sort 
of  play  for  which  so  many  of  us  are  hoping  and  for  which  alone 
so  many  imagine  the  new  stage  art  is  fitted. 

America  has  its  artists,  it  even  has  a  producer  or  two,  that  see 
this  exa6ling  yet  catholic  new  art  aright.  It  is  beginning  to  have 
an  audience,  and  it  must  cultivate  critics.  We  are  through  with 
imitation.  Europe  has  taught  us ;  we  must  now  pra6lice  and 
create.  We  are  past  the  Craig  period  when  theories  and  rather 
extravagant  sketches  had  their  justification  in  the  inspiration 
they  gave.  Now  is  the  time  for  pra6licality,  revolutionary  prac- 
ticality, and  for  accomplishment  and  triumph. 


The  Necessary  Illusion 

By  Lee  Simonson 

The  illusion  of  being  not  at  the  play  but  in  the  domain  of  the 
play  itself,  is  the  essential  illusion  which  the  theatre  must  give. 
Without  it  no  vicarious  experience  is  possible,  that  purgation  of 
our  emotions,  more  often  romantic  than  tragic,  which  is  the  ul- 
timate and  permanent  satisfa6lion  that  any  dramatic  spe6lacle 
bestows.  I  find  myself  a  designer  of  scenery,  because,  even  as  a 
spe6lator,  the  forms  in  which  the  players  move,  and  the  very 
light  they  move  through,  are  as  essential  in  maintaining  this 
fundamental  illusion  of  the  theatre  as  their  impersonations  or  the 
words  of  the  play  itself.  Bernhardt  declaiming  Hecuba  in  front 
of  potted  palms,  remains,  for  me,  simply  Bernhardt  declaiming, 
however  beautifully. 

At  any  of  the  traditional  performances  of  Wagner's  Ring,  I 
have  merely  listened  to  a  score,  for  I  was  at  the  dreariest  corner 
of  the  Palisades.  At  any  moment  the  sign  "Choice  Lots  for 
Sale"  might  gleam  through  the  tree  trunks,  and  the  clang  of  a 
hidden  trolley  drown  the  dirge  of  the  Rhine  Maidens.  Never  for  a 
moment  was  I  where  the  musii  bade  me  be — at  the  beginning  of 
the  world  watching  Gods  decree  their  doom  and  shape  the  des- 
tiny of  men.  Let  Melisande  wander  under  the  unrelenting  glare 
of  eleflric  light,  against  huge  chromolithographs  of  an  American 
pubhc  park  in  the  year  1850,  and  her  cry  "Je  ne  suis  pas  he- 
reuse"  is  the  ludicrous  bleat  of  a  silly  child,  and  the  cadences 
of  Debussy  the  merest  gibberish.  But  let  me  see  her,  as  I  did 
more  recently,  among  the  cavernous  rooms  and  the  gaunt  ter- 
races of  a  king's  dwelling,  as  visibly  strange  and  as  foreboding  as 
Copeau  made  it,  and  her  terror  becomes  mine  and  her  cry  the 
voice  of  my  most  inarticulate  sorrow. 

Stating  it  as  a  doctrine,  one  might  say  that  quality  of  a  back- 
ground determines  one's  emotional  rea6lion  to  anything  that 
happens  in  front  of  it.  As  such  it  may  seem  hyper-aesthetic;  yet 
it  is  a  do6lrine  we  acknowledge  daily  by  the  importance  we  at- 
tach to  creating  appropriate  backgrounds  everywhere — parks 
and  gardens  to  idle  in,  houses  to  live  in,  churches  to  worship  in, 
tombs  to  lie  in.  And  we  try,  however  fitfully  or  unsuccessfully, 
to  give  them  some  design  or  some  beauty  relevant  to  the  experi- 
ence they  are  supposed  to  shelter.  And  yet  this  same  public 
that  will  save  their  lovemaking  for  the  prettiest  lane,  or  forget 
guide  books,  rapt,  in  the  nave  of  an  alien  cathedral,  will,  once 


within  the  theatre,  accept  the  most  cherished  love  scenes  and 
romantic  deaths,  amid  surroundings  they  would  not  consider 
worth  printing  on  a  pi6lure  postcard,  or  which  would  outrage 
them  at  the  funeral  of  a  friend. 

To  destroy  this  strange  dualism,  this  indifference  to  visual 
beauty  that  the  theatre  seems  to  breed  in  most  a6lors  and  pro- 
ducers, as  well  as  in  their  spe6lators,  is,  I  think,  the  fundamental 
problem  of  the  scene  designer.  For  the  present  danger  is  that  the 
so-called  "modern  scenery"  will  be  accepted,  but  never  craved — 
that  it  will  remain  a  luxurious  extra,  a  dressing-up  of  the  play, 
and  applauded  as  another  tradition  of  the  theatre,  and  in  the  end 
matter  no  more  than  whether  the  costumes  of  the  chorus  of 
Listen  Lucy  are  green  with  black  spangles  or  pink  with  yellow 
plumes. 


The  Mission  of  the  Stage  Setting 

By  John  Wenger 

The  scenic  setting  has  a  distin6l  mission  in  theatrical  Hfe  —  and 
but  one  mission.  That  is  so  to  express  the  purpose,  the  spirit,  the 
symbolism  of  the  play  as  to  enhance  and  intensify  its  character. 

At  a  local  theatre  recently  the  audience  gave  vent  to  pro- 
longed applause  as  the  curtain  rose,  revealing  the  stage  setting. 
Apparently  complimentary  to  the  scenic  designer ;  and  so  it 
was  —  before  the  action  of  the  play  began. 

As  soon  as  the  business  of  the  story  commenced  and  the 
psychology  of  the  drama  entered  into  the  consciousnesses  of  the 
auditors,  they  felt  vaguely  uncomfortable.  Most  of  them  were 
unable  to  analyze  their  irritation.  The  student  of  stagecraft 
sensed  the  trouble  immediately.  The  setting  didn't  belong.  It 
clashed.  As  a  work  apart  it  was  exquisitely  done,  and  merited 
the  applause  it  received.  As  the  background  for  the  drama 
which  it  was  intended  to  serve,  it  failed. 

So  to  harmonize  with  the  play,  so  to  correspond  with,  and  in- 
tensify, if  possible,  the  underlying  motif  expressed  by  it,  so  to 
merge  itself  with  the  spirit  and  purpose  of  the  play  that  it  calls 
forth  of  itself  no  recognition  beyond  the  subconscious  apprecia- 
tion of  its  absorption  into  the  play  itself — that  is  the  purpose  of 
the  stage  setting. 

The  theatre  of  yesterday  demanded  —  and  still  demands,  for 
the  modern  playhouse  is  a  lone  gladiator  battling  against  the 
host  of  hoary  though  hard-dying  discouragers  of  change  —  that 
the  stage  setting  represent  realism. 

It  insisted  upon  realism  because  it  had  Httle,  if  any,  respe6l 
for  the  thought  processes  of  the  average  audience.  What's  the 
set,  a  barn-door?  Then  where  are  the  nails?  How  in  the  name 
of  Thespis  will  the  audience  recognize  the  set  as  a  barn-door  un- 
less you  paint  in  the  nails,  the  hinges  and  the  door-latch?  Thus 
reasoned  the  theatre  owner  of  yesteryear. 

He  also  insisted  upon  drabs.  A  dull  gray  or  a  muddy  brown 
were  his  favorite  colors.  They  were  the  only  pra6lical  tones  to 
use.  Else  how  could  one  distinguish  the  a6tors?  "Tone  down 
your  colors,"  the  stage  designer  was  warned,  with  the  result  that 
the  freshly  installed  setting  resembled  a  choice  se6lion  of  Canar- 
sie  real  estate  after  the  February  thaw.  It  was  toned  down,  all 
right.  It  was  so  toned  down  that  it  toned,  down  the  spirits  of  the 
audience,  the  receipts  in  the  box  office,  and  the  spark  of  ambi- 


tion  still  faintly  discernible  in  the  hearts  of  the  few  visionaries 
who  dreamed  of  the  day  when  life  on  the  stage  might  express 
itself  in  the  materials  nature  offers. 

For  nature  is  not  drab.  Nature  is  gorgeous  in  color,  and  color 
on  the  stage  is  one  of  the  three  essentials  which  the  mind  de- 
mands.   The  other  two  are  aflion  and  sound. 

Give  the  setting  all  the  brilliance  the  motif  of  the  play,  or 
opera,  demands.  No  fear  that  the  players  won't  be  seen.  They 
move.  The  moving  object  is  always  more  conspicuous  than  the 
background,  no  matter  how  skilfully  the  colors  blend.  Then 
there  is  contrasting  color.  Harmonious  contrasts  add  vigor  and 
beauty  to  the  stage  pi6lure. 

The  background  should  contain  movement.  Life  is  not  static. 
It  is  fluid.  The  stage  setting  should  tend  towards  that  elusive- 
ness  in  life  found  in  the  rainbow,  in  the  play  of  shifting  lights  and 
shadows. 

Imbue  the  stage  setting  with  poetry.  Give  it  an  imaginative 
quality.  Let  it  absorb  within  it  a  fluidity,  an  elusiveness  that 
stimulates  the  mind.  The  stage  setting  that  stifles  individual  in- 
terpretation by  driving  nails  into  the  barn-door  is  a  failure,  in  that 
it  fails  to  preserve  the  essential  illusion  of  the  theatre. 


Artificiality  and  Reality  in  the 
Future  Theatre 

By  Hermann  Rosse 

If  the  plastic  arts  mean  anything  they  mean  an  artificial  reality, 
an  interpretation  of  life  in  another  medium  in  an  attempt  to  clarify 
life  itself  A  predi6lion  as  to  the  future  of  the  plastic  arts  of  the 
theatre,  to  me,  resolves  itself  into  an  application  of  this  crucial 
test:  do  they,  or  do  they  not,  help  our  cosmic  understanding? 

3eauty  of  form  helps  us  in  this  way,  and  that  supreme  beauty 
which  comes  with  geometrical  perfe6lion,  be  it  in  plane  or  soHd. 
And  so  does  beauty  of  color  even  more  readily,  as  its  appeal  is 
so  much  more  easily  understood. 

Part  of  the  appeal  of  the  theatre  is  stru6lional  reality,  and  part 
is  art  for  art's  sake,  illusion.  Where  we  find  the  modern  theatre 
lacking  is  in  the  poverty  of  stru6lional  beauty  in  auditorium  and 
stage,  and  in  the  overemphasizing  of  the  technical  side  of  the 
purely  artistic  beauty  of  the  scene.  There  are  plays  now — and 
it  is  safe  to  predi6l  that  there  will  be  more  soon — for  which  the 
pure  stru6lional  beauty  of  unadorned  building  will  be  very  suflfi- 
cient,  will  in  fact  be  the  only  entirely  right  method  of  mounting. 
Nearly  all  plays  of  a  meditative,  analytical  nature,  all  plays  of 
words,  could  thus  be  a6led  on  a  beautifully  finished  platform. 

The  dynamic  play,  as  the  dionysian  ballet,  no  doubt  will  gain 
in  power  through  being  assisted  by  sympathetic  scenery  and  cos- 
tuming emphasizing  its  mood.  Making  its  appeal  through  mo- 
tion, through  rhythm,  anything  which  will  emphasize  our  illusion 
of  motion  in  the  right  tempo  will  be  beneficial  to  the  total  im- 
pression on  the  speftator. 

Here  now  opens  up  a  vista  of  thought  altogether  fascinating 
in  the  multiplicity  of  its  possibilities.  Some  ballet  designers  have 
added  to  the  motion  of  the  aftors  and  the  rhythm  of  the  music 
a  static  representation  of  dynamic  emotion  on  the  backcloths. 
In  tl;iese  attempts,  however,  there  still  is  a  little  of  the  same  in- 
congruity of  the  realistic  perspective  setting  of  twenty-five  years 
ago.    Only  the  stylistic  rendering  saves  them  artistically. 

The  next  move  in  the  development  of  this  type  of  play  is  the 
abandoning  of  the  static  parts  of  the  stage-pi6lure ;  and  the  de- 
velopment of  moving  scenery.  That  the  abandoning  of  these 
static  elements  means  ultimately  the  elimination  of  the  stage 
floor  and  the  consequent  disappearance  of  the  a6lor,  does  not 


greatly  worry  us.  This  will  simply  eliminate  one  fa6lor  of  ex- 
pression, which  is  too  likely  to  be  influenced  by  chance  emo- 
tions. Our  present  knowledge  of  technique  seems  to  lead  us  to 
suppose  that  the  purely  dynamic  play  will  bring  us  back  again 
to  the  pi6lure-frame  proscenium.  In  fa6l,  a  crude  prototype  of 
it  may  be  seen  in  the  animated  cartoons  in  the  moving-picture 
theatres. 

From  a  purely  aesthetic  view  point  the  effe6l  of  this  develop- 
ing of  the  background  at  the  expense  of  the  a6lor  will  remake 
the  dynamic  play.  Imagine  beyond  the  proscenium  a  void  in 
which  planes  and  bodies  will  develop  themselves  in  limitless 
graduation  of  color  and  shape  in  one  great  rhythm  with  the 
coordinating  music— two  dimensional  patterns  in  kaleidoscopic 
succession,  and  these  fascinating  patterns  formed  by  the  inter- 
se6lion  of  solids,  darts  of  color  across  a  sombre  background, 
lines,  planes,  or  solids,  and  symbols  of  man  and  surrounding 
nature,  all  emphasizing  the  mood  of  the  music  !  The  wholly  ac- 
torless  theatre  with  its  tendency  toward  the  two-dimensional 
visible  art  and  the  abstra6l  in  music  will  be  the  triumph  of  the 
artificial,  the  decorative,  the  stylistic. 

To  me  the  coming  of  this  type  of  theatre  is  so  certain  that  it 
interests  me  almost  more  to  speculate  on  the  nature  of  the  thea- 
tre that  will  supplant  it,  for  we  must  admit  that  the  dynamic 
theatre  would  have  to  be  symbolic  to  reach  the  pitch  of  perfec- 
tion adequate  really  to  move  us.  It  would  have  to  depend  on 
the  depth  of  meaning  we  attach  to  our  symbolism,  for  the 
completeness  of  its  appeal.  But  symbolism  may  be  as  univer- 
sally known  as  that  of  the  Christian  Church,  and  yet  it  remains 
se6larian  and  hence  in  itself  carries  its  death  warrant. 

We  modern  people  of  an  old  race  have  visions  as  much  as  the 
people  of  Gothic  France  and  Coptic  Rome,  and  yet  we  differ. 
We  have  lost  the  dualistic  belief  of  good  and  evil.  To  us  there 
is  but  one  truth,  and  that  is  balance — or  compromise,  if  you  like. 
Our  a6lions  are  resultants  of  confli6ling  tendencies.  We  hope  at 
the  same  time  for  the  attainment  of  our  ideals  and  the  greater 
ideal — which  will  destroy  our  attainments  in  its  effort  toward 
self-realization. 

We  see  the  inevitableness  of  a  theatre,  wholly  adlorless,  with 
shapes  and  colors  and  forms  in  an  abstra6l  way  bridging  our  con- 
scious experience  with  the  infinite,  and  at  the  same  time  we  feel 
the  certain  approach  of  a  newer,  more  vital  art  replacing  our 
conventions.  We  struggle  for  our  ideals,  not  because  we  believe 
the  millennium  will  arrive  with  their  accomplishment,  but  be- 


cause  we  know  their  fulfilment  to  be  indispensable  as  a  link  in 
the  chain  of  human  development. 

The  decline  of  the  stylistic  stage  will  be  coincident  with  its 
canonization.  That  which  will  always  conquer  art  is  reality,  life 
itself  In  the  theatre  of  to-day  two  tendencies  are  very  evident — 
one  toward  a  rare  and  precious  artificiality,  and  one  toward  a 
new  and  vital  realism.  The  first  tendency  will  probably  work 
itself  out  in  the  a6lorless  theatre.  The  second  tendency  will 
probably  lead  by  the  way  of  a  slow  development  of  the  purely 
construftive  stage  and  the  oratory  platform  to  a  new  type  of 
churchlike  theatre,  with  refledlive  domes,  beautiful  materials, 
beautiful  people — to  a  revitalizing  of  art  by  a  complete  reversal 
from  the  artificial  to  the  living  real.  If  we  are  going  to  stay 
true  to  the  spirit  of  the  time,  both  of  these  tendencies  will  de- 
velop side  by  side  until  reality  carries  the  day — or  will  time  as- 
sert itself  still  further  and  will  the  result  be  a  compromise? 


If  I  Must 

By  RoLLO  Peters 

How  un-simple  we  have  become,  we  of  the  "commercial"  and 
"art"  theatres,  with  our  exquisite  differences  and  separations. 
And  how  many  treatises,  attacks  and  counter-attacks  are  hurled 
by  the  one  party  against  the  other.  The  division  is  futile,  and 
and  worse  than  futile. 

For  there  is  no  "old  theatre",  nor  is  there  a  "modern  stage" — 
there  is  simply  the  Theatre,  for  you,  for  me,  for  the  other  fellow. 

Though  it  appear  different  to  each  of  us,  let  us  not  try  to  con- 
vert the  other  to  our  vision  of  the  Theatre.  Let  us  cease  in  our 
small,  sure  ways  from  "regenerating  the  stage".  It  was  never 
meant  that  beauty  become  the  common  fare.  Then  let  us  go 
our  separate  ways,  without  rancor  or  declamation.  There  is 
plenty  of  room  for  us  surely — musical-comedians,  poets,  trage- 
dians and  business  men — in  this  Theatre  of  ours. 

As  for  me — I  pledge  my  allegiance  to  no  nation,  no  party,  no 
principle,  but  to  that  complexity  which  is  the  vulgar,  the  holy 
Theatre.  I  throw  myself  into  its  complexities  to  master  them  — 
or  turn  butcher;  to  learn  the  endless  lesson  of  the  Theatre. 

In  order  that  they  may  come  to  know  the  Theatre,  I  advise 
all  aftors  to  turn  painters,  and  all  painters  to  turn  actors — (only 
the  playwrights  must  keep  to  their  cells) — for  no  matter  how  bad 
an  a61:or  he  may  make,  the  painter  will  come  back  to  his  drawings 
with  renewed  life,  with  a  sense  of  the  relation  that  the  a6lor 
bears  to  the  scene.  The  a6lor  will  weave  into  his  words  the 
color  of  the  scene  and  of  the  light ;  there  will  be  a  mysterious 
and  penetrating  relation  between  his  movements  and  the  flowing 
melody  of  stru6lural  line. 

Let  us  forget  our  differences,  we  of  the  Theatre.  Let  us 
enjoy  them. 


Byzantine  tiirone  scene  by  ^laxwell  Armfield.  Drop 
designed  for  use  with  a  black  cyclorama.  For  a  pro- 
duction   bv    Ruth    St.    Denis. 


Design    by    Michael    Carmichael    Carr    for    the    first 
scene   of  the  opera   Iphigenia  in   Tauris. 


Design   by    Rollo   Peters   for   The  Bonds  of  Interest. 
For    a    production   by    The    Theatre   (".uild. 


Design    by    Joseph    I.^rban    for    the    church    scene    of 
Faust.     For  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House  production. 


Model     by     Lee     Sinionson     for     the     palace     interior 
scene  of  the  ^pera   J phi^ciiia  in    Taiiris. 


Design  by  John  Wenger  for  the  setting  of  The  Lost  Pleiad. 


Design  bv   Ravmoml  Johnson   for  the   setting  of  The 
King   of    the   Je'ivs.      For    the    Chicago    Little    Theatre. 


915' 


•rm^s 


Design  by    Hermann   Rosse   for  a   movable  stage   set- 
ting.     "La    Serva   Padrone    Pergolese." 


j'.ri,"j!iiP.Si(""« 


Setting  by  Willy  Pogany  for  Le  Coq  d'Or 
Metropolitan   Opera   House  production. 


For  the 


TTmnarjrrr 


i 


Design    by    Robert    Edmond    Jones    for    a    scene    in 
Washington        For    the    Theatre    du    Vieux    Colombier 

production. 


Setting  by   Sam  Hume  for  Doctor  Faustus. 
Arts  and   Crafts  Theatre,   Detroit. 


For  the 


Setting     by     Irving     Picliel     for     Bushido.       For     the 
Arts  and  Crafts  Theatre,  Detroit. 


Design  by  Robert  K<lm'>nil  Jones  for  the  scene  at 
tlie  gypsies""  house  in  Rcdciiif^tiou  {The  Lii'iiig  Corpse). 
For   Arthur   Hopkins' production. 


Design    by    Xornian-I'.el    Geddes    for    the    final    scene 
of   Pellcas  and   Mclisniide. 


Design  by  J.    Blanding   Sloan   for  Scene  One  of  Such  is  Life 


Design  by  Hermann  Rosse  for  a  drop  curtain  setting. 


Fashions  in  the  Theatre 

By  Robert  Edmond  Jones 

Workers  in  the  theatre  have  always  faced  and  will  always  face 
the  same  problem:  the  problem  of  making  a  drama  live  before  an 
audience. 

To  create  an  impression  of  livingness  in  the  presence  of  spec- 
tators, to  recall  life  to  them — that  is  the  necessary  thing.  There 
are  numberless  manners  of  working  and  there  is  no  real  quar- 
rel with  any  of  them.  Realism,  simplification,  stylization,  are 
fashions  in  the  theatre  all  of  which  can  carry  energy  in  the 
hands  of  artists. 

The  new  direflor  will  adopt  any  fashion,  any  convention,  so 
long  as  it  is  a  living  one.  He  may  come  to  use  masks  on  his 
stage,  for  example,  having  observed  that  his  aflors  project 
essential  emotion  by  their  movements  and  attitudes  much 
more  freshly  and  significantly  than  by  the  changes  in  the  ex- 
pression of  their  faces.  He  may  apply  the  bird's-eye  view  of 
life,  made  familiar  by  the  motion  pi6lure  and  the  aeroplane,  to 
new  visualizations  of  the  mass-soul  in  mass  grouping  and  move- 
ment. He  may  discover  through  the  study  of  crystallography  un- 
suspe6led  relations  between  spacing  in  the  theatre  and  present-day 
processes  of  thought.  He  may  find  a  new  dramatic  form  spring- 
ing out  of  community  drama  expressed  through  the  rhythms 
of  polyphonic  prose.  He  may  see  the  classic  unities  of  space 
and  time  across  the  modern  conceptions  of  curved  space  and 
curved  time.  No  method  of  working  will  be  too  daring  or  too 
dire6l  for  him  to  adopt — always  with  the  supreme  desire  to  make 
a  thing  on  the  stage  which  will  live  and  will  draw  the  life  of  the 
audience  promptly  into  its  own  larger  life. 


The  Future  of  Stage  Art 

By  Michael  Carmichael  Carr 

In  the  flux  of  a  dramatic  world  the  one  thing  certain  is  that  the 
stage  arts  will  develop,  a  little  behind,  but  always  in  relation  to 
the  evolution  of  art  in  general.  Beyond  this  all  is  surmise ;  and 
one  is  sorely  tempted  to  make  sail  for  the  Hesperides  and  write 
a  prophecy  on  the  Future  of  Stage  Art  in  the  category  of  "what 
it  should  be"  rather  than  flounder  in  attempting  the  difficult  pas- 
sage of  "what  it  may  be". 

Though  a  prophet  is  without  honor  in  his  own  country,  the 
people  have  always  believed  in  prophecy.  They  are  never 
thrilled  by  it.  Artists  are  invariably  thrilled  though  they  rarely 
believe.  Pessimistic  prophets  are  always  religious  and  threaten- 
ing. Optimistic  ones  are  somewhat  artistic,  and  their  artistic 
futures  are  uniformly  golden.  For  centuries  past,  a  rain  of  ar- 
tistic millenniums  has  fallen  from  the  gold-filled  mouths  of 
prophets  to  fertilize  the  slow  evolution  of  art — but  the  smoke 
goes  up  the  chimney  just  the  same ! 

Since  life  began  there  have  existed  poets,  playwrights,  dan- 
cers, a6lors,  sculptors,  musicians,  and  painters.  Though  no  law 
expressly  forbids  their  cooperation  to  produce  drama,  an  inertia 
or  political-financial-religious  hiatus  prevents  their  working  to- 
gether— sometimes  it  seems  a  managerial  policy,  sometimes  a 
foolish  public,  and  on  rare  occasions  a  professional  jealousy. 
Herein  lies  the  golden  opportunity  for  a  fame-enamored  alchem- 
ist who  is  neither  artist  nor  politician.  Out  of  a  pother  of  ex- 
periment with  new  movements,  little  theatres,  and  the  like,  there 
has  arisen  a  lot  of  bad  work,  artistically,  and,  as  heretofore,  it 
has  not  failed  to  draw  gibes  and  abuse  from  those  whose  sense 
of  the  beautiful  has  ossified.  But  there  never  was  an  artistic 
effort,  as  widespread  as  the  present  interest  in  the  theatre  and 
as  deep  as  the  feeling  of  the  new  theatre  artists,  that  did  not  in- 
augurate much  good  along  with  the  gibes  and  the  ragged  work. 
Ho}ii  soit  qui  nial  y  pense.  The  apparently  cynical  remarks  of 
Gordon  Craig  anent  amateur  artists  in  little  theatres,  when  boiled 
down,  really  mean  that  new  theatres  are  significant,  not  because 
they  are  little,  certainly  not  because  they  are  large,  but  in  just 
proportion  to  the  vitality  of  the  artist  group  they  contain. 

What  every  artist  of  the  theatre  should  have  is  a  theatre  of  his 
own — a  theatre  in  which,  be  he  ever  so  insouciant,  he  may  try 
his  theories  as  to  permanent  sets  or  refle6led  light  or  proscenium 


doors,  and — who  knows? — in  the  end,  may  perhaps  find  that 
dreams  come  true.  But,  speaking  in  the  light  of  what  may  be, 
if  he  have  the  time  to  dream  and  the  chance  to  build  models  of 
his  dream,  he  will  be  happy. 

When  the  trois  coups  have  sounded  and  the  curtain  has  parted, 
speculation  vanishes,  and  we  are  confronted  by  the  stage  as  it 
is;  so  it  is  no  easy  matter  to  turn  from  decorative  generalities  to 
the  consideration  of  a  particular  set,  for  one  design  neither 
illustrates  a  principle  nor  proves  a  rule.  And  speaking  of  prin- 
ciples, it  will  be  remembered  that  after  years  of  experiment  and 
theory,  Gordon  Craig  v/as  summed  up  by  London  critics  as  "the 
man  who  didn't  believe  in  footlights"!  Personally,  and  at  the 
risk  of  being  put  down  as  an  advocate  of  pearl-handled  dimmers 
or  gold-tasseled  lashlines,  I  crave  to  see  develop  on  the  stage  a 
more  significant  form  modified  by  a  more  significant  or,  better, 
most  significant  color.  Shades  oi  les  Synibolistes  !  I  hope  this 
does  not  presage  to  the  reader  a  gloomy  mysticism  overlying 
alike  Maeterlinck  and  our  own  corn-fed  American  type  of  play; 
for,  even  as  the  Romanesque  castle,  so  our  office  furniture  from 
Michigan  has  a  distin6live  shape ;  and  as  between  these  purely 
material  forms  and  the  spiritual  mood  of  the  dramatist  there 
stands  but  the  a6lor  and  the  stage  artist,  I  long  to  see  the  latter 
wielding  his  power  with  as  varied  a  change  of  dress  and  as  mul- 
tiple expression  of  countenance  as  the  former. 

Now  that  artists  are  entering  the  theatre,  the  burdens  may  be 
more  equally  shared.  Generally  speaking,  an  a6lor  has  suc- 
ceeded in  giving  a  good  performance  of  Shakespeare  only  in 
spite  of  the  scenery.  With  an  artist  behind  the  scenes,  the  a6lor 
should  gain,  as  he  would  not  only  carry  a  lighter  load  but  find 
new  support,  new  harmonies,  and  fresh  enthusiasm  born  of  the 
common  eftbrt  to  a  definite  end.  This  is  made  more  certain  by 
the  fa6l  that  painting  has  passed  the  peak  of  naturalism  and 
drawn  nearer  to  the  other  form  arts. 

With  the  machine  technology  so  much  a  part  of  our  civiliza- 
tion, there  is  little  danger  that  the  sets  of  the  future  will  become 
as  simplified  as  has  pure  painting.  Mechanics  will  always  play 
its  part  in  the  technical  side  of  production,  but  it  will  be  what 
the  small  compa6l  gas  engine  is  to  the  ponderous  steam  engine 
of  thirty  years  ago.  The  traditional  Transformation  Scene  has 
about  disappeared  with  topheavy  steam  engines ;  and,  where  the 
dynamo  and  dimmer  have  banished  gas,  we  shall  see  arise  sets 
that  are  clear  and  simple  in  line,  weighty  in  mass,  and  convinc- 
ing in  their  suppression  of  detail.    For  it  is  not  alone  with  form 


and  colored  light  that  the  stage  artist  is  concerned.  Everything 
that  is  visible  from  the  auditorium  should  come  under  his  eye 
before  the  audience  passes  the  foyer.  One  might  well  digress 
here  to  talk  of  the  decoration  of  proscenium  arches,  but,  keep- 
ing modestly  inside  the  footlights  one  may  logically  presume 
that,  as  the  form  and  lighting  of  scenes  has  received  so  much 
attention  recently,  new  shapes  for  the  stage  and  varied  textures 
will  soon  follow. 

That  the  underlying  principles  of  design  hold  true  on  the  stage 
is  axiomatic,  so  "to  be  or  not  to  be  design"  we  may  leave  to  the 
amateur  embroiderers  of  crazy-quilt  drama,  and  proceed  among 
the  shades  of  meaning  where  the  tragic  decisions  must  be  made. 
The  efforts  of  the  future,  therefore,  lie  in  the  ways  and  means  of 
producing  the  exa6l  nuance  of  feeling  out  of  the  all-too-ephem- 
eral stuff  of  which  stage  beauty  is  made.  For  the  immediate 
future  let  us  hope  that  managers  may  discover  that  artists  and 
craftsmen  will  work  as  cheaply  as,  and  more  faithfully  than,  con- 
tracting companies,  and  that  through  this  knowledge  artists  may 
enter  the  theatre  in  increasing  numbers  and  there  find  a  cooper- 
ative spirit. 


Scene  and  Ad:ion 

By  Irving  Pichel 

I  REGARD  a  play  as  an  a6lion  taking  place  primarily  in  the  minds 
and  hearts  and  souls  of  a  group  of  characters.  In  so  far  as  it  is  a 
great  play,  it  has  a6lion  of  this  type  more  abundantly  than  out- 
ward physical  a6lion.  In  the  same  degree,  it  depends  upon  or 
is  independent  of  outward  forms,  connotative  of  a  specific  time 
and  place.  A  true  digest  of  human  emotion  and  experience  is 
not  confined  within  scenic  walls  or  canvas  vistas. 

As  long  as  we  have  our  present  stage,  we  must,  I  suppose, 
clothe  every  play  in  forms  of  a  sort.  But,  in  the  case  of  the  play 
the  a6lion  of  which  we  do  not  see  with  our  eyes,  I  seek,  in  the 
setting,  forms  which  connote  as  little  as  possible,  because  I  want 
to  be  free  to  see  the  humanity  of  the  chara6lers,  stripped  of 
Romanesque  or  Gothic  or  Renaissance  or  sky-scraper  implica- 
tions. 

Very  few  plays,  however,  are  so  written.  The  great  classics  of 
Greece,  of  Elizabethan  England,  of  Japan  —  of  any  great  litera- 
ture, for  that  matter, — might  best  be  viewed  from  the  side  of 
a  prize-fighting  ring,  from  all  sides  and  at  every  moment  visible. 
I  am  not  sure.  But  that  they  should  be  given  what  they  do  not 
absolutely  need  of  scenery  or  decoration  is  to  place  an  obscuring 
screen  before  them,  even  in  the  case  of  scenery  that  claims  to 
be  "an  unobtrusive  background".  The  man  must  stand  up  clear 
against  sky  only,  or  perhaps  multiplied  by  mirrors,  or  backed  by 
more  human  beings — the  audience  on  the  other  side  of  the  ring. 
The  only  implications  must  be  human. 

For  the  rest,  each  play  prescribes  its  own  world — a  world  of 
facilities  to  give  the  a6lor  scope  for  the  agility  and  exuberance 
needed  for  the  translation  of  the  manuscript  into  "a6lion",  or  a 
world  of  connotative  forms,  telling  us  of  the  country,  period, 
richness  or  poverty  of  the  chara6lers,  and  the  quality  of  im- 
agination that  calls  forth  the  play. 

As  a  producer,  I  look  upon  a  play  as  having  begun  in  the 
turbulence  of  a  writer's  mind.  By  means  of  pen,  ink,  and  paper, 
and  later,  through  aftors,  scenery,  lights,  sound-waves,  this  cre- 
ation of  imagination  must  be  drawn  through  a  material  welter 
to  issue  again, — a  turbulence  of  the  spe6lator's  mind.  If  I 
could  bridge  across  this  material  pit,  and  translate  from  the  mind 
of  poet  to  spe6lator  his  fable  of  poem  or  dream — an  unimagin- 
able osmotic  theatre  —  I  should  be  happy.    Scenery  stands  by 


way  of  a  footpath  we  must  walk  upon  when  we  wish  to  fly. 
But  we  are  learning  to  fly.  Soon  we  may  be  able  to  in  the 
theatre. 

Until  then  we  remain  down  in  the  world,  instead  of  looking 
across  at  each  other  through  an  interspace  of  air.  And,  in  the 
same  measure  as  each  play  walks,  we  walk  scenically.  1  cannot 
conceive  of  having  a  style  of  scenery  all  my  own, — it  belongs  to 
the  play,  comes  out  of  the  demands  of  the  play,  grows  as  the 
play  grows  in  rehearsal.  Finally,  after  some  two  weeks  of  re- 
hearsal, I  am  able  to  give  the  stage  carpenter  certain  meas- 
urements. The  scene  is  set  and  painted  standing.  Afterwards, 
very  often,  I  ask  somebody  to  make  a  sketch  of  the  scene  in 
colors,  or  I  content  myself  with  an  unsatisfaftory  photograph. 
And  I  find  that  it  looks  nothing  like  my  stage  setting,  which 
vibrated  with  light  and  color  and  the  humanity  of  the  chara6lers 
in  the  play. 


The  New  Stage  Designing 

By  C.  Raymond  Johnson 

The  success  of  the  new  stage  designing  is  to  a  certain  extent 
dependent  upon  the  play.  The  modern  successful  play  is  usually 
trash,  as  far  as  true  art  is  concerned,  so  of  what  profit  is  a  new 
motive  in  the  background  ?  Well,  it  serves  as  an  example  of 
something  better.  It  helps  the  play  along,  and  is  more  bearable 
to  look  at.  Above  all,  it  is  more  in  relation  to  the  a6lion,  and 
comes  nearer  to  reality,  being  farther  from  realism. 

For  me  the  new  movement  means  a  striving  for  complete 
unity  in  the  theatre:  a  new  form  of  expression.  We  are  trying 
to  make  the  theatre  an  art,  with  a  form  that  is  of  the  theatre  and 
not  pieces  of  something  else.  I  feel  that  we  are  at  the  begin- 
ning of  that  art.  What  developments  are  made  will  be  indeed 
interesting  material  for  the  history  of  a  new  art. 

I  have  a  deep  love  for  the  theatre,  but  I  fear  it  is  one  that 
gazes  past  the  pra6lical  to-day's  theatre  with  its  pettiness  and 
bravado.  I  look  forward  to  a  much  bigger  thing.  I  confess 
there  are  certain  streaks  in  me  that  revolt  at  being  led,  guided, 
or  pushed,  and  it  is  this  that  is  so  discouraging  in  the  thea- 
tre. Everything  seems  to  pull  away  from  one  instead  of  with 
one.  There  is  chaos,  both  in  the  material  and  in  the  spiritual 
aspe6l. 

I  consider  the  entire  theatre,  including  the  building,  of  great 
importance.  Our  usual  theatre  is  far  from  a  thing  by  itself  For 
instance,  imagine  how  wonderful  and  beautiful  an  auditorium 
and  proscenium  could  be  in  relation  to  the  stage.  In  regard  to 
stage  decoration,  my  feeling  is  that  the  things  we  call  "  old  stuff" 
are  mere  representation  of  detail  and  a  sort  of  illustration  to  the 
play — any  old  thing  to  cover  up  the  back  wall  of  the  stage, 
which  is  oftentimes  better  than  the  drop.  The  significance  of 
dramatic  qualities  is  lost,  so  far  as  background  is  concerned.  I 
feel  that  the  real  art  of  stage  decoration  is  an  expression  full  of 
mystery  and  joyousness,  and  aims  at  setting  the  point  of  entrance 
into  the  new  world  where  for  an  interval  there  is  an  illusion,  and 
unconsciously  we  are  lifted  to  that  higher  plane  where  we  are 
moved  by  that  which  moves. 

Yes,  I  know,  I  dream  of  a  sort  of  Utopia  in  the  theatre — a 
place  where  there  will  be  harmony,  love,  and  serious  work.  I 
think  of  progress  on  the  stage,  and  I  see  the  scene  a  simple,  or- 
derly massing,  principally  proje6led  by  light.     Light  to  me  offers 


the  greatest  possibilities  of  all  the  means  on  the  stage.  With  it  I 
hope  to  see  great  things  accomplished.  With  it  I  hope  to  do 
something.  I  seriously  believe  we  are  only  at  the  beginning  of 
a  great  new  day  in  the  use  of  light ;  and,  when  the  dawn  of  that 
day  appears,  it  will  seem  to  be  the  glorious  sun  rising  to  light  us 
on  our  path  of  pure  joy  in  work,  in  creation,  and  in  contempla- 
tion. 

/ 


The  Theatre  of  the  Future 

By  Norman-Bel  Geddes 

In  the  middle  of  the  fourth  century  the  theatre  went  to  sleep 
simultaneously  with  the  downfall  of  the  Greek  social  system  and 
the  idealism  of  the  Greeks.  Ten  years  ago  it  rubbed  its  eyes. 
Since  that  time  there  have  been  indications  that  its  slumber  is 
not  peaceful.     Ten  years  hence  it  will  be  fully  awake. 

The  theatre,  more  than  any  other  form  of  art,  belongs  to  the 
majority  of  the  people.  A  painter,  sculptor,  or  poet  can  pro- 
duce his  gem  isolated  from  humanity.  The  architeft  and  the 
dramatic  dire6lor  require  company.  Because  of  this  necessity 
their  two  forms  of  art  are  destined  to  a  more  general  apprecia- 
tion. At  present  we  are  under  the  misapprehension  that  great 
art  is  an  enjoyment  exclusively  for  the  minority.  Naturally 
those  who  most  thoroughly  understand  anything  are  in  the  mi- 
nority, but  that  is  no  reason  why  the  entire  world  cannot  learn 
to  enjoy  and  appreciate.  Even  a  tiny  candle  held  by  one  per- 
son will  illuminate  a  crowd.  So  evolution  constantly  develops 
the  unexpe6led  possibilities  of  art  as  an  integral  part  of  the  life 
of  the  people. 

More  than  through  any  other  channel  the  artist  in  the  theatre 
has  dire6l  intercourse  with  his  audience.  The  extent  of  his 
power  is  beyond  present-day  comprehension.  We  have  less 
conception  of  the  possibilities  in  drama  than  geographers  had  of 
the  world  in  the  fourteenth  century.  There  is  no  form  of  crea- 
tive expression  which  cannot  be  used  to  advantage  in  the  theatre. 
Since  it  is  an  aggregate  medium,  it  is  destined  to  hold  the  pre- 
dominating position  among  the  arts.  Architeflure  is  the  most 
enduring ;  dramatic  produ6lion  the  most  delicate,  depending 
almost  entirely  upon  the  sensitiveness  of  human  fragility.  Up 
to  this  time  no  effort  has  been  made  to  develop  a  technique  that 
builds  permanently.  We  can  record  definitely  the  spirit  of 
authors,  composers,  and  designers,  but  not  of  the  a6lor ;  though 
cinema  and  phonograph  are  elemental,  uncoordinated  develop- 
ments toward  such  recordization. 

There  is  nothing  odd  in  the  fa6l  that  almost  simultaneously 
artists  in  all  parts  of  the  world  have  turned  their  thoughts  to- 
wards the  theatre.  There  is  nothing  "new"  in  what  they  are 
giving  to  it.  Art  has  always  had  its  own  little  continent  in  the 
world  of  the  theatre,  though  to  popular  opinion  we  are  just  dis- 
covering it  with  the  same  eclat  that  the  Europeans  "discovered" 


an  America  already  inhabited.  Discovery  is  only  the  awakening 
of  human  consciousness  to  a  reality  that  always  exists.  Devel- 
opment in  various  forms  of  expression  fluctuates,  and  it  requires 
a  crisis  in  the  lives  of  the  people  to  bring  about  an  impetus.  A 
great  war  has  ceased.  A  veil  is  rising  to  disclose  better  things. 
I  look  forward  to  a  more  general  interest  in  the  lovelier  things 
of  life  and  a  much  more  intimate  acquaintance  between  artist 
and  audience.  Man's  horizon  has  broadened  so  that  he  can  ad- 
vance where  he  pleases. 

I  am  looking  to  America  for  the  greatest  increase  in  artistic 
interest.  Here  the  old  and  the  new  are  balanced  relatively.  No 
centuries  of  tradition  bind  free  meditation.  Appreciation  has 
lain  dormant  under  drowsy  ignorance,  but  an  unprejudiced 
freshness  predominates.  Drama  will  become  more  indigenous 
and  intimate  with  the  hearts  of  the  people.  We  have  made  the 
eternal  mistake  of  going  somewhere  else  for  our  material  instead 
of  searching  it  out  here.  Theatrical  managers  have  a  lower 
opinion  of  American  intelligence  than  is  justifiable,  though  there 
have  been  plenty  of  reasons  for  their  attitude. 

Just  a  word  as  to  my  own  interest  in  the  theatre.  It  was  not 
a  special  attra6lion  toward  scenery  that  drew  me  into  it.  Under 
a  sudden  impetus  I  wrote  a  four-a6l  play,  first  in  pantomime  and 
then  in  dialogue.  With  the  consuming  desire  to  visualize  the 
written  conception,  I  conco6led  a  crude  little  stage  on  which  I 
slowly  worked  out  variations  of  lighting,  principal  figure  compo- 
sitions, costumes,  and  detailed  properties.  The  effe6l  showed 
me  so  many  obstacles  in  adapting  my  own  ideas  to  the  me- 
chanics of  the  present  type  of  stage,  that  my  second  effort  went 
into  the  discovery  of  a  new  form  of  theatre  strufture,  which  I 
developed  until  I  was  ready  to  send  the  main  ideas  through  the 
Patent  Office.  It  was  that  archite6lural  endeavor  which  induced 
me  to  experiment  with  the  lovely  realities  that  such  a  stage  could 
aftually  accommodate,  and  it  was  the  building  of  a  second,  elab- 
orate model  stage  that  swung  me  with  emphasis  toward  the 
creating  of  the  setting  of  plays  as  a  more  immediate  opportunity. 

There  are  plenty  of  reasons  for  discouragement  in  the  present 
standard  of  theatrical  produ6lions.  Every  form  of  expression 
periodically  passes  through  a  degenerate  period,  but  the  harder 
the  pendulum  swings  one  way,  the  more  vigorous  will  be  its 
push  in  the  other  dire6lion.  At  present  there  are  many  little 
theatres  in  the  country  working  away  at  the  difficult  task  of 
reaching  the  public  in  small  scattered  groups  until  larger  organ- 
izations are  ready  to  use  their  more  adequate  machinery.     I  pre- 


di6l  without  a  doubt  an  entire  cutting  away  of  the  clumsy,  tough 
weeds  of  the  present  theatrical  system.  It  is  the  little  green 
shoots  almost  hidden  underneath  and  sometimes  almost  stifled 
that  will  become  the  beautiful,  fresh  growth  of  the  future  theatre. 
I  feel  positively  that  an  altogether  new  form  of  produ6lion,  writ- 
ing and  a6ling  will  replace  what  we  have. 


The  Stage 

By  Joseph  Urban 

The  stage  brings  us  the  greatest  thoughts,  the  most  beautiful 
phantasies  and  dreams,  from  many  of  the  biggest  thinkers,  poets 
and  artists  of  the  world.  We  learn  the  things  of  life  and  beauty 
that  we  did  not  know,  that  we  did  not  imagine  existed. 

The  theatre  of  the  future  must  become : 

The  carrier  of  the  culture  of  its  nation. 

The  altar  to  which  the  best  and  greatest  of  a  nation  offer 
their  energy  and  beauty,  strength  and  knowledge. 

The  institution  which  receives  equally  the  gift  of  genius  and 
the  force  of  the  workman. 

The  shrine  of  beauty  so  democratic  that  every  new  cultural 
element  coming,  finds  there  cooperation. 

The  future  stage  must  be  so  big  and  general  in  its  influence 
that  the  strength  of  its  conviction  goes  out  to  the  very  frontier 
and  knocks  on  the  door  of  its  neighbor.  Who  refuses  this  gift 
hurts  himself  and  impoverishes  his  life. 

In  our  future  life  the  stage  must  have  the  same  influence  that 
the  Christian  church  has  had  in  the  past. 


Fantasy? 

By  J.  Blanding  Sloan 

We  may  only  hope  to  put  into  the  theatre  (that  least  controllable 
of  all  mediums)  things  a  httle  less  abortive  than  itself.  At  present 
it  is  far  too  imperfefl,  too  material  a  thing  for  the  artist  to  nur- 
ture his  reveries  in.  It  has  too  little  to  do  with  dreams.  And 
dreams  are  such  that  they  cannot  be  transformed  into  other  tim- 
ber than  that  of  which  they  are  built.  Let  me  then  learn  well 
the  deficiencies  of  the  theatre,  so  that  in  avoiding  I  may  tend  to 
eliminate  them  and  to  make  the  theatre  a  more  work-worthy 
vehicle.  I  will  not  care  to  concern  myself  especially  as  to  the 
future  of  it,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  play  a  little  with  the  present 
discordant  instrument  and  help  to  wear  away  its  roughnesses. 
Nothing  I  could  say  concerning  it  would  alter  its  poor  form  so 
much  as  the  least  of  the  compositions  I  may  be  able  to  play 
upon  it.  If  I  am  fortunate  and  play  my  lay  well  enough  to  add 
a  note  for  the  future,  those  to  come  will  make  good  use  of  it  to 
build  upon. 

But  if  I  may  play  seer  for  a  moment  and  speak  my  dream  : 
When  with  the  choice  visions  of  minds  gone  and  minds  pres- 
ent we  have  built  our  theatre  into  an  instrument  of  delicately 
controlled  cadences ;  when  dreams  are  kept  dreams  there,  and 
the  artist  shall  finger  the  strings  of  it  as  the  violinist  in  the  cool 
twilight  softly  and  half  unconsciously  plays  to  himself  those  of 
his  compositions  which  lift  away  from  all  but  dreams,  there  may 
be  art  in  the  theatre. 


Color  and  Light 

By  Maxwell  Armfield 

There  has  been  much  written  about  this  aspe6l  of  the  Syn- 
thetic method  of  dramatic  produflion,  and  written  well  enough, 
yet  we  see  little  a6lual  work  that  is  satisfying.  We  find,  for 
instance,  that  most  young  dire6lors  seem  to  think  they  are 
doing  something  novel  and  "artistic"  by  showing  some  con- 
trast of  orange  and  blue  lights  upon  the  scene.  It  is  so  easy 
to  flood  the  stage  with  amber  and  then  place  a  blue  light 
behind  a  window ;  moreover,  at  present  it  gives  the  audience 
a  certain  thrill. 

But  what  becomes  of  the  a6lors?  And  what  becomes  of  the 
play?  And  in  three  years  or  ten  this  sort  of  thing  will  no  longer 
excite  the  audience,  and  then,  what  becomes  of  the  direflor? 

Let  us  hope  he  will  have  begun  to  think  for  himself. 

A  very  safe  rule  for  the  dire6lor,  old  or  young,  is  to  begin  at 
the  praflical  end  in  every  case. 

There  are  three  main  ways  in  which  color  may  be  used  on  the 
stage,  and  these  depend  upon  the  material  chosen  for  the  vehicle. 
A  nd  they  are  not  wisely  mingled. 

The  first  rule  of  art  is  that  any  work  must  have  unity  within 
itself,  and  that  unity  must  extend  to  every  detail  of  the  work. 
This  law  is  transgressed,  for  instance,  when  a  cubist  painter  sticks 
tram-car  tickets  and  pieces  of  celluloid  over  his  painting.  It  is 
transgressed  by  almost  every  stage-manager,  including  myself 
We  all  transgress  it ;  the  unfortunate  thing  is  that  as  a  rule  we 
are  unconscious  of  the  fa6l. 

Now,  whether  you  are  dealing  with  color  as  paint,  or  as  silk, 
or  as  light,  you  necessarily  arrange  its  varying  quantity  and 
and  quality  into  a  complete  whole  which  is  symmetrical  and 
which  you  call  Pattern.  This  Pattern  may  be  achieved,  as  I  say, 
in  diverse  ways  :  keep  them  diverse. 

Firstly : — 

The  simplest  art-forms  are  those  in  which  natural  objects,  such 
as  birds,  are  symbolized  as  abstract  shapes,  which  we  call  Pattern, 
as  a  rule  ;  and  they  are  often  arranged  in  a  repeating  design.  The 
Amerind  potter  will  indicate  a  bird  by  a  reftangle  with  a  few 
straight  lines  radiating  from  two  corners,  perhaps,  and  a  circle  in 
the  middle.  This  may  be  repeated  at  intervals  round  the  pot 
and  eventually  copied  by  some  modern  designer  short  of  ideas, 
as  a  "cunning"  design. 


The  Flemish  stone-mason  of  the  thirteenth  century  would  carve 
a  rough  statement  of  the  a6lual  outline  of  the  bird,  but  he  would 
still  fill  in  this  outline,  very  likely,  with  a  diaper  pattern  having 
no  resemblance  to  the  bird's  appearance  beyond  a  vague  impli- 
cation of  feathers  by  a  regular  criss-cross.  When  Rodin  carves 
a  bird,  the  a6lual  shape  of  the  beast  interests  him  far  less  than 
its  relation  to  wind  and  rock,  and  their  effect  on  it.  This  he 
would  strive  to  indicate  in  a  rhythm  which  would  still  rightly  be 
called  Pattern,  but  it  would  be  something  entirely  different  in 
aim  from  that  of  the  Amerind  potter.  Not  better,  not  more 
"like"  anything,  just  a  different  symbol  for  saying  a  different 
thing. 

It  is  just  the  same  with  one's  use  of  color  on  the  stage.  You 
may  choose  to  use  it  as  pattern,  that  is,  as  abstract  shapes  of 
different  hues,  harmoniously  arranged ;  and  this  may  and  should 
express  all  sorts  of  things.  In  this  case  you  will  cover  your 
actors  with  patterns  and  patterned  costumes:  pattern  your  back- 
ground and  your  properties:  your  music  and  your  dance. 

Now  there  are  several  practical  points  which  will  occur  to 
anyone  in  this  connection  if  he  will  put  aside  all  conventional 
ideas. 

First :  it  is  useless  to  spend  hours  planning  an  expressive  pat- 
tern, and  then  to  print  it  on  a  thin  material  that  will  entirely  cut 
it  up  and  spoil  each  part  by  innumerable  folds  and  pleatings. 
Therefore  intelligence  would  intimate  that  when  pattern  is  used 
in  this  sense  as  an  expressive  medium  for  color,  the  costume, 
etc.,  should  be  designed  in  flat  masses  unbroken  by  small  folds; 
and  either  of  stiff  material,  heavy  material,  or  laid  on  such  a 
foundation. 

Second  :  it  is  also  useless  to  design  a  costume  to  display  a 
significant  pattern  if  you  then  allow  a  series  of  deep  and  ragged 
black  blotches,  green  blotches,  orange  blotches,  magenta  blotches 
— that  is,  the  Lime-light  Man — to  run  about  irrelevantly  over 
your  possibly  grey  and  yellow  pattern.  Intelligence  murmurs 
that  this  result  indicates  the  necessity  of  a  perfectly  flat  light  for 
this  kind  of  patterning. 

And  we  may  also  treat  our  pattern  in  other  ways.  For  instance, 
we  may  take  each  person,  object  or  portion  of  a  scene  as  a  mass 
of  uniform  color,  approximately  unbroken,  and  deal  with  each 
of  these  masses  as  parts  of  a  pattern  of  which  the  entire  stage  is 
the  whole.  In  this  case  it  may  be  that  it  will  be  effective  to 
modulate  the  light  so  that  some  parts  of  the  stage  are  brighter 
than  others,  but  so  long  as  the    color  is  to  be  constant   and 


obtained  by  the  varying  materials  of  costume  and  scene  we 
shall  find  that,  as  in  the  first  case,  colored  light  only  confuses 
the  issue. 

In  this  type  of  work  our  chief  business  will  be  to  make  each 
part  as  distinctly  individual  as  possible:  that  is,  to  accentuate  its 
local  color,  within  the  general  scheme,  of  course. 

The  third  type  being  essentially  the  showing  of  the  relations 
of  things,  will  rely  on  subtle  differences  of  light,  especially,  to 
produce  its  significant  pattern.  The  various  forces,  such  as  wind, 
which  unify  pictorial  representation,  are  mostly  outside  of  the 
legitimate  means  of  the  theatre,  so  that  we  are  thrown  back  upon 
the  few  we  have;  and  of  these,  light  is  by  far  the  most  important 
as  a  unifying  element. 

This  is  generally  recognized,  but  what  is  not  recognized  is  this, 
that  all  symbolic  means  and  methods  are  useful  only  as  tools ; 
they  are  not  in  that  capacity  either  valuable  or  beautiful  per  se ; 
also  that  the  representation  of  natural  fa6l  implies  a  recognition 
of  all  that  that  fa6l  entails.  You  are  under  no  obligation  to  use 
perspe6live  in  art,  but  if  you  choose  to  do  so  it  must  penetrate 
the  whole  of  your  design.  There  must  be  some  intelligent  and 
obvious  cause  for  every  effect.  Producers  are  too  fond  of  getting 
a  cheap  effect  easily  by  turning  colored  lights  on  to  the  scene 
for  no  reason  beyond  the  excuse  that  they  are  considered  beauti- 
ful or  effective,  or  "new".    None  of  which  reasons  are  valid. 

If  colored  or  represented  light  of  any  kind  be  used  as  a  medium 
in  a  scene,  it  will  be  found  that  the  effect  is  rarely  helped  by  the 
introduction  either  of  colored  materials  in  the  costume  or  pat- 
terned goods.  They  may  occasionally  be  of  use,  but  as  a  rule 
neutral  colors  are  much  more  valuable  because  they  do  not 
counteract  the  effect  of  the  light.  Gordon  Craig  has  emphasized 
this  very  wisely. 

Though  it  appear  easy,  this  third  type  of  production  is  in  fact 
very  much  the  most  difficult  with  which  to  obtain  a  really  satis- 
factory result  from  an  artistic  point  of  view,  and  unless  one  can 
have  a  more  of  less  permanent  stage  for  experiment  it  is  best 
to  use  the  others. 

It  also  necessitates  a  very  wide  knowledge  of  facts  and  in- 
genuity to  use  them  without  degenerating  into  a  mere  copyist, 
quite  apart  from  the  necessity  of  very  complex  and  expensive 
apparatus.  It  is  essential,  for  instance,  that  the  light  be  diffused 
and  ubiquitous,  if  necessary,  and  (a  fact  often  overlooked)  graded 
in  color  as  well  as  in  depth.  To  attempt  to  work  with  the  crude 
red,  blue  and  yellow  of  the  commercial  stage  is  worse  than  noth- 


ing.  Moonlight  is  not  ultramarine  blue.  It  varies  with  the  varying 
of  the  moon  as  well  as  from  a  thousand  other  causes,  as  does 
sunlight.  The  feeling  of  vague  revolt  at  the  average  production 
of  an  Ibsen  play  is  due  not  only  to  the  ugliness  and  absurdity 
of  the  scenery,  but  quite  as  much  to  the  fact  that  one  knows 
instinctively  that  the  hot  yellow  glare  pouring  down  out  of  a 
hard  blue  sky  (outside  the  greenhouse  in  which  the  people  are 
usually  sealed)  never  shone  on  Norwegian  fjord  or  mountam 
ledge.    The  cold  northern  sunshine  is  half  the  battle. 

There  are  many  other  considerations,  of  course,  and  this  at- 
tempted classification  of  a  few  details  merely  touches  the  fringe 
of  the  subject;  but  I  have  found  them  personally  to  be  of  use 
in  practical  work,  especially  in  avoiding  the  temptation  to  mix 
one's  methods,  the  most  fatal  mistake  of  the  age  in  art,  perhaps. 


CATALOGUE 

Galleries  1  atid  2 

DESIGNS  AND  PHOTOGRAPHS 

Maxwell  Armfield: 

Three  Dance  Settings  for  Ruth  St.  Denis: 

1.  Byzantine  Throne  Scene:     Desig-n  and  Photograph 

2.  Javanese  Scene  :     Design  and  Photograph 

3.  The  Triumph  of  Democracy 

4.  Costumes  for  The  Grasshlade 

Xorman-Bel  Geddes: 

5.  Three  Designs  for  Papa 

6.  Four  Designs  for  Pelleas  and  Melisande 

7.  Three  Designs  for  King  Lear 

8.  Two  Costumes  for  King  Lear 

9.  Two  Costumes  for  The  faithful 

Sam  Hume: 

10.  The  Golden  Doom 

11.  The  Glittering  Gate 

12.  Helena's  Husbafid 

13.  The  Tents  of  the  Arabs 

14.  The  Chinese  Lantern 

15.  Helena's  Husband 

16.  Abraham  and  Isaac  . 

C    Raymond  Johnson  : 

17.  Deirdre  of  the  Sorrozcs,  Act  II 

18.  The  Philanderer,  Act  IV 

19.  Medea  (Euripides) 

Roi'.ERT  Edmond  Jones: 

20.  Redemption,  The  Gypsy  House  Scene 
Three  Designs  for  The  Cenci 
Caliban  by  the  Yellow  Sands 
Sabrina 

Figure  of  "Pestilence"  for  The  Roll  Call 
Figure  of  "Hate"  for  The  Roll  Call 


21 
22 
23 
24, 

9 


Harriet  Klamroth  : 

26.  Snow  White,  Prologue 

27.  Crops  and  Croppers,  Act  III 

VVii,LY  Pogany: 

28.  Three  Costume  Designs  for  Sumurun 

29.  Costume  Design:     The  Wind 

30.  Costume  Design :     Lucrezia  Borgia 

RoLLo  Peters: 

31.  Tannhauser,  Acts  I  and  III 
Z2.     Four  Designs  for  Hernani 

33.  Three  Costumes  for  Hernani 

34.  His  Widow's  Husband 

35.  Madame  Sand,  Act  IV 

Irving  Pichel: 

36.  Bushido 

37.  The  Romance  of  the  Rose 

Hermann  Rosse: 

38.  Group  of  Stage  Designs 

Lkk  Simon  son  : 

39.  The  Garden  of  Susannah 

40.  The  Magical  City 

41.  Two  Settings  for  Pierre  Patelin 

42.  Overtones 

43.  St.  Anthony 

].  Blanding  Sloan: 

44.  Dregs 

45.  The  Myth  of  the  Mirror 

46.  Alice  in  Wonderland 

A-7.     Two  Costumes  for  A  Man  Can  Only  Do  His  Best 

JOSEPH  Urban  : 

48.  Faust  (Goethe) 

49.  Charfreita^szauher 

50.  St.  Elizabeth,  Act  IV 

51.  Monna  J^'anna,  Act  I 

52.  L' Am  ore  dei  Tre  Re,  Act  III 
r3.  Tristan  and  Isolde,  Act  III 

54.     Two  Designs  for  Faust  (Gounod) 


John  Wenger: 

55.  A  Christmas  Pantomime 

56.  The  Maid  of  France 

57.  Studio  Scene 

58.  Petrushka,  Act  II 

59.  Petrushka.  Act  III 

60.  Setting:     A  Music  Room 

61.  Efficiency 

62.  Russian  Ballet  Setting 

63.  Petrushka,  Prologue 

64.  Setting:     The  Grotto 

65.  Setting  for  a  Dunsany  Play 


Gallery  3 

MODELS 
North  Wall 

J.  Blanding  Sloan.  .Model  for  Pierrot  in  the  Clear  of  the  Moon 

West  Wall 

John  Wenger Model  for  a  Wood  Scene 

Willy  Pogany Model  for  Coq  d'Or 

Robert  Edmond  Jones 

Model  for  Strife:  the  Scene  outside  the  Factory  Wall 

Norman-Bel  Geddes Model  for  The  Shadon'x  Waters 

Rollo  Peters Model  for  Iphigenia  in  Tauris,  Act  I 

Harriet  Klamroth Model  for  Iphigenia  in  Tauris,  Act  I 

Willy  Pogany Model  for  Coq  d'Or 

South  Wall 

C.  Raymond  Johnson 

Model  for  a  Poetic  Play  in  the  Spirit  of  The  Bacchae 

John  Wenger .Model  for  a  Ballet  Setting 

Lee  Simonson Model  for  Iphigenia  in  Tauris.  Act  I 

J.  Blanding  Sloan Model  for  Such  fs  Life 

East  Wall 

C.  Raymond  Johnson.  .Model:   A  Theme  in  Dra»iatic  Rythms 

Lee  Simonson Model  for  Carmen,  Act  IV 

Emilie  Hapgood Model  for  The  Ideal  Husband 

(Adaptable  Setting  for  Three  Scenes) 
Michael  Carniichael  Carr 

Model  for  Iphigenia  in  Tauris,  Act  I 


riyinsr  Staar  Press,  New  York. 


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